


How Clint Barton Ruined His Honeymoon

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Is the Best Husband, Cabin Fic, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is A Trainwreck, Honeymoon, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Clint's spent two years trying so hard to hide from Bucky that he's a human trash fire. It figures that it would all fall apart on their honeymoon.





	How Clint Barton Ruined His Honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lissadiane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissadiane/gifts).



Clint had worked so hard to move beyond his tendency towards tragic disaster. He didn’t think he’d worked this hard at anything, not even archery. That had come naturally to him, so the hours spent shooting at a target had felt easy, as if there was nowhere else he was meant to be.

Managing to be a functioning adult human though, that had never come easily to him. He’d never even tried to force it, not until Bucky Barnes came into his life and suddenly all he wanted was for Bucky to look at him and see a guy he could trust, and respect, and love.

No one had ever looked at Clint Barton and seen anything other than a dumpster fire.

Sure, Natasha loved him, in the vaguely hopeless way that you loved a puppy who kept tripping over its own paws, and she trusted him in certain circumstances, to have her back in a fight, to hear quiet secrets in the middle of the night, but she sure as hell didn’t trust him to make it to the end of the week without messing up, or getting yet another injury, or even remembering to turn up to briefings on time.

And it seemed like some of the public respected him now, but no one that actually knew him, no one who saw more than the glossy PR image of Hawkeye that SHIELD and Tony’s media teams worked so hard to project.

Almost everyone else who knew him were more likely to roll their eyes at him than tell him they were proud of him, which seemed fair when his sweatpants always had at least two holes in them, or they caught him drinking coffee straight from the pot again, or it turned out that the super-hot chick he’d slept with was part of the mafia and got him all tangled up in the middle of some gang warfare bullshit that the team had to come rescue him from.

He didn’t even mind that much, because it wasn’t like he was trying for it. Being an adult just seemed like a lot of hard work with not a lot of reward.

Or at least, he wasn’t trying for it until Steve brought Bucky Barnes to the tower, introducing him around and beaming like the Dodgers had announced they were coming back to Brooklyn. Bucky looked around the team with a swift, intense look that made it seem like he’d seen through them all, and his eyes lingered on Clint for a split-second and-

Fuck.

Clint wanted him to see something worth looking at so badly.

So he’d worked at it. For the first time, he’d made an effort to have clothes in his wardrobe that didn’t look like they should be cut up for rags, and he started using mugs all the time, not just when they had company over, and he set up a whole system of alerts with JARVIS so that he was on time to things, or at least only a couple of minutes late.

It was a constant struggle, and some days it felt like all he wanted to do was stay in bed and blow off every commitment he’d ever made, but then he’d walk into a briefing room, showered, dressed in actual clothes, and on time to grab a cup of coffee before they started the meeting, and there’d still be a spare seat next to Bucky for him to slide into as he handed over the coffee he’d fixed for him, and Bucky would give him that _smile_ and, fuck. That was it. It made all of the stress and hassle worth it, because there was no way anyone would smile at Clint like that if they knew what a trash fire he truly was.

Natasha knew what was going on, of course, because there wasn’t a single part of his life that she didn’t know about. She didn’t say anything though, just gave him amused looks, and helped cover up when his usual disaster luck kicked in, and he found himself covered in garbage and nursing a twisted ankle when he should be meeting Bucky for lunch.

“Urgent SHIELD mission,” she said into the phone, as she helped Clint out of the dumpster. “It couldn’t wait, and there wasn’t time for him to contact you, so he asked me to.” She eyed Clint with a professional eye, lingering on the hobble as he tried to make it to the end of the alleyway. “He’ll be back in time to meet you for dinner, though.”

Clint sighed, because that was hours away and he’d wanted to spend time with Bucky right now. Maybe lunch would have bled into an afternoon at the park or at the range, or even just lounging on a sofa and watching movies or playing video games or, shit, anything if it meant having Bucky with him.

Natasha hung up the phone, then put his arm around her shoulders to help him to the car. She dumped the phone in his lap once they were inside and heading for SHIELD medical.

“Make reservations,” she said. “He likes the Italian on 31st.”

Clint nodded, picking the phone up, then fumbling and dropping it on the floor.

“And you’re cleaning the inside of this car after medical,” added Natasha, as he picked it up. “You’re making it smell like landfill.”

That seemed fair.

Somehow, Clint made it through two years of looking like a responsible adult in front of Bucky. All through those first few, awkward dates, where Clint was mostly trying not to blurt out just how god-damned perfect the guy was, and then into dating for real, which was usually the stage that Clint fucked up at. This time, though, he poured everything he had into remembering anniversaries and taking Bucky out to the kinds of places he liked, and just not whichever late-night coffee shop Clint hadn’t been banned from yet, and not getting distracted and forgetting he had a boyfriend for a few weeks. That bit, at least, was easy, because it felt like he woke up every morning just glowing with the knowledge that he was the guy going out with Bucky Barnes.

And once they moved in together, Bucky was right there beside him, giving him that soft, morning smile that no one else got to see, and Clint would feel his whole heart just swell. There was never anything in Bucky’s eyes that said he was waiting for the next fuck-up or that he was just putting up with Clint’s bullshit. Instead, he ducked his head in close to Clint’s to kiss his neck and whisper that he loved him, and Clint felt his whole body shiver with just how true that felt.

“I love you, too,” he said, and he didn’t think he’d ever meant anything more.

“Good,” said Bucky, lifting his head and cupping a hand around Clint’s cheek, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. “Cuz, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Clint wrapped an arm around his waist. “Yes, I am a natural blond,” he said, “but you can check if you want.”

He waggled his eyebrows and Bucky sniggered, because somehow he always found Clint’s stupid jokes funny rather than annoying.

“I’m pretty sure I already have,” he said. “Extensively.”

Clint gave a loose-limbed shrug against the sheets. “It never hurts to double-check, right?”

“Maybe in a minute,” said Bucky, leaning in to press a close-mouthed kiss to Clint’s lips. “But just now, I wanted-” He hesitated, and Clint forced himself to keep his mouth shut, because this looked serious and he wasn’t the asshole who cracked jokes during serious moments, not anymore.

“I love you,” said Bucky again, and he leaned back to pull out the nightstand drawer and dig around for something in it. “Being with you is the best thing that’s happened to me,” he added, once he had whatever it was clutched in his hand. “Clint, I don’t ever want that to end. I want to spend my life with you.” He opened his hand to reveal a box, flipping it open to show Clint’s disbelieving eyes the ring inside. “Will you marry me?”

Clint had thought about this, in the dark moments of the night when Bucky was slumbering peacefully beside him, arm draped over Clint’s chest like he couldn’t stand to stop touching even when they were asleep, but he’d never quite managed to make himself believe that he’d get it. It felt like a step too far for someone like him. He could put on all the show he liked, after all, but under all this effort into appearing to be together he was still Clint Barton, human crapsack, and there was no way he was the sort to get married, not unless it was a drunken error in Vegas, the kind of trainwreck that barely made it to the end of the month.

This, though. Bucky hadn’t just bought him a ring, he’d bought him a really nice ring, thick and heavy platinum with, fuck, was that Bucky’s star etched on it with a tiny arrow shot through the middle? And he was looking at Clint with his whole heart in his eyes, jaw clenching with tension as if he thought there was a chance Clint would say no.

There was no way Clint could ever say no to this guy.

“Fuck, yes,” he said. “Bucky, of course I will. Don’t you know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me as well?”

The smile that broke out over Bucky’s face was so beautiful that Clint just had to reach up and pull him into a kiss, even if it meant the ring box kinda got lost between them as they rolled over, holding tight and trying to get as close as possible, until they were pressed so tightly together that Clint could feel Bucky’s heartbeat pulsing against his chest.

Six months later, somehow he managed to get through the ceremony and the reception without descending back into the disaster magnet that he’d worked so hard to move beyond. A large part of that was down to Natasha, who continued to be the best damn friend anyone could ever ask for. Just before she walked him down the aisle, she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m really proud of you,” she said, and Clint felt himself flush with warmth. “And I’m so happy for you. But from now on, it’s Bucky’s job to fish you out of dumpsters, okay?”

Clint let out an awkward laugh, because there was no way in hell he was letting Bucky know just how often he ended up in dumpsters, even with a ring on his finger. Divorce was still a thing, after all, and he couldn’t let himself slack off with the adulting and end up fucking up. It would kill him if he lost Bucky now.

The ceremony seemed to pass in an eye-blink, and then they were married and all their friends were celebrating in Tony’s largest reception room, food and music and flowers everywhere, but all Clint had eyes for was Bucky’s face, and the way he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

Oh fuck, he’d done it. He’d married this guy, like a proper adult human being, and he was going to get to grow old with him, unless he fucked it up somehow.

He wasn’t going to fuck it up, though, not after two years of working so damn hard for this. He was going to do everything he could to keep it, even if it meant four alarms any time he was meant to be somewhere, and alerts from JARVIS to remind him to do all the dull adult shit, like cleaning and grocery shopping and paying his taxes. 

Bucky pulled him into his arms, holding him close as they swayed to the old-timey song that Bucky had chosen for their first dance. “I love you,” he said quietly into the tiny space between their lips, so that the words were just for them.

“I love you too,” said Clint, and he felt a surge of recklessness. “I’m going to do everything I can to make you happy,” he vowed, with more strength than all the formulaic words he’d said during the ceremony. “I’m not going to let you down.”

Bucky laughed. “You’ve never let me down,” he said. “I can’t even imagine it.” He leaned in and kissed Clint while all the ways Clint could still fuck this up were still running through his head.

****

When Bucky had first announced that he wanted to honeymoon in the mountains, Clint had stared at him like he was nuts. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” said Bucky. “I want a cabin in the woods, and a lake nearby to hike around, and dramatic views to look at every evening as we share a beer on the porch, and a crisp edge to the air so that we have to press close to wrap the same blanket around both of us.” He hesitated, then added, “I want to make good memories with white peaks as the backdrop, to erase all the old ones.”

It hadn’t taken anything more than that to get Clint on board. “Some of those cabins have hot tubs,” he said, and Bucky’s eyes had lit up.

They drove out to the cabin the day after the wedding, leaving the others with the clearing up, and when they arrived, it was pretty much perfect. The lake was right next to the cabin and had a tiny jetty for swimming off, with a rowing boat tied up alongside. Behind it, snow-covered mountains were arranged like some kind of picture-postcard, dark green trees descending all along their lower slopes and enclosing the cabin, so that it felt like they were the only two people on earth.

The hot tub was on the deck, where it had a view of all of it. The first night, they sat in it until the stars came out over their heads, and Clint wondered how it was possible for one guy to be this happy.

The next day was when it all started to go wrong. Somehow, after two years of keeping tight control over his disaster tendencies around Bucky, it all just started to fall apart.

He’d somehow forgotten to bring any underwear when he’d packed, which at least made Bucky laugh and point out he wasn’t going to need any on a honeymoon anyway, not if they did it properly.

They took the boat out, which should have been fine because Clint was great with boats, but Bucky distracted him by kissing him so that he dropped an oar overboard. He managed to paddle them over to it before it got too far away but somehow while he was trying to fish it out he managed to fall overboard.

The lake water was _cold_ , and sapped most of the strength from his body so that he couldn’t pull himself back into the boat until Bucky just reached down and grabbed him, which ended with him pretty much soaked as well.

They got back to the cabin as quickly as possible, but Clint was already shaking uncontrollably by then, counting off the symptoms of hypothermia in his head as Bucky looked increasingly panicked.

Even after a hot shower and dry clothes, Clint felt weirdly shaky, so Bucky lit the fire in the cabin and curled up with him on the sofa, wrapped in every blanket they could find.

“I am good at boats,” Clint insisted as Bucky pressed his warm face into his cold neck.

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I was on the Toronto mission, remember?”

Clint relaxed into his arms. “That was a fun mission,” he remembered, drowsily.

He spent most of the rest of the afternoon asleep, waking up for just long enough for Bucky to feed him dinner, then stumbling to bed and falling asleep again, too exhausted to remember that he wasn’t meant to do this kind of thing any more.

The next morning, he woke up to find that Bucky had used the time he was asleep to drive all the way to the nearest town and buy him some underwear, and he felt like shit. Bucky shouldn’t have to spend his honeymoon picking up after his trash husband.

“Maybe I like the idea of picking what my husband wears next to his skin,” said Bucky, lounging against the pillows and giving Clint a sleepy smile.

He looked so damn sexy and satisfied that Clint couldn’t have stopped himself from leaning in and kissing him, even if he’d wanted to. One thing led to another, and at least Clint could always manage awesome sex without fucking up.

“I’m making you breakfast in bed,” he decided, once they were cuddled together afterwards, the sweat still drying on their skin.

“Sounds great,” said Bucky. “Not just yet, though?” His grip tightened and Clint let him hold him close for a bit longer before forcing himself away from the sleepy warmth and heading to the kitchen.

He made pancakes, which should have been a great idea, but somehow the first lot of batter went horribly wrong, and the second lot ended up on the floor when some fast animal dashed past the window and he startled so hard at the unexpected movement that he dropped the bowl and went for a weapon he didn’t have on him, because this was his damn honeymoon.

By the time he was on the third lot, Bucky had got bored of lounging in bed and was showering, but that was fine, romantic breakfast didn’t have to be in bed. They could eat pancakes on the deck, looking at the view, and it would still be good.

Clint was thinking so hard about setting up a table out there with a tablecloth and candles and would he get in trouble for picking some flowers? that he didn’t check the temperature properly on the stove, and when he dropped the first load of batter in, the oil hissed and spat at him, showering his bare chest with droplets of burning pain.

“Fuck!” he swore, jumping backwards, stumbling over a chair and ending up on the floor with the wind knocked out of him.

“Are you okay?” asked Bucky, and Clint looked over to see him looking clean and dressed in his favourite jeans and a red Henley, and looking so put together that Clint had no idea what the hell he was doing with a chronic catastrophe like Clint.

There was a crackle from the pan, and smoke started to rise from it.

“I’m fine,” said Clint, struggling to get up so he could at least prevent the damn thing burning, but his bare foot caught on a splatter of batter that he must have missed when he was clearing up the second lot, and he ended up skidding back down onto the floor, hitting his head on the table on the way down.

“Shit, Clint!” said Bucky, rushing over to drop down by his side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” said Clint, rubbing at the throbbing lump on his head and blinking back the sudden tears of pain.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, I’m not buying it. C’mon, let’s get you sorted out.”

Behind him, the smoke from the pan was now thick and black and the room was filling up with the smell of burning. Clint let out a sigh and decided to just give up.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

Bucky got him upright and in the shower, and then sorted out the wreck of the kitchen so that when Clint was out and dressed, there was breakfast waiting for him on the deck.

Damn, and he’d even found a vase to put flowers in.

“I’m sorry,” said Clint, “this looks great.”

Bucky shrugged it off like it was nothing when Clint hadn’t even got close to managing it after multiple attempts. “How’s your head?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a concussion,” said Clint.

Bucky smiled as he poured him a mug of coffee. “Well, that’s something, then.”

They had been planning to go for a hike that afternoon, but Bucky didn’t want to risk Clint going too far from the cabin, and the car, in case it turned out he actually did have a concussion and needed to go to hospital. Which was probably fair, but still made Clint feel like an asshole, because he knew how much Bucky wanted to get out into the woods.

“Tomorrow,” he said, as Bucky settled beside him on the swing with another cup of coffee.

“Sure,” said Bucky, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “We’ve got days and days, right? Just us and the trees.”

“Sure,” agreed Clint. He still had time to pull this back, after all. He could be the husband Bucky deserved.

****

The next day actually started out pretty well. They went for an icy cold dip in the lake, then warmed each other back up in the shower, and then in the bed, before packing up a lunch and heading out into the woods.

Clint climbed a couple of trees because, fuck it, he loved climbing things, and Bucky mostly seemed to think it was funny, up until Clint did the backwards somersault of the branch on the last one, which Bucky clearly thought was hot as hell if the way he back Clint up against the trunk and dropped to his knees was any indication.

They ate lunch, and wandered further than they’d been really planning, then turned to head for home.

“You got the compass?” asked Bucky, glancing at the three possible trails they could take.

“Yeah, sure,” said Clint, dropping a hand into his pocket. It was empty. He tried the other one, which was also empty, then started to panic, because Bucky was giving him an expectant look, and this was Adulting 101: don’t go off into the woods without a map and a compass.

He went over every pocket he had twice, then Bucky did the same just in case, before Clint reluctantly said, “It musta fallen out when I was climbing that tree.”

“Okay,” said Bucky. “Okay, well, this isn’t the end of the world, we can still get back.” He looked at the three trails again, then up at the sun. “That one?”

Clint glanced at them and shrugged. “Sure,” he said, and they started down it.

It wasn’t that one. They didn’t get back to the cabin until after dark, by which time they were exhausted and Bucky had gone weirdly quiet, like he was bottling up all the things you didn’t say to your new husband until at least the honeymoon was over.

He made Clint take the first shower, then disappeared into the bathroom as soon as Clint was out.

Clint took a deep breath. Okay. Okay, this was not going well, but he could still fix this, right? He’d managed two years, he wasn’t going to fall down now.

What did he need to do to get the honeymoon feeling back?

By the time Bucky had got out the shower, Clint had every candle he could find spread around the hot tub. He’d opened a couple of cold beers and set his phone up to play old-timey romantic crooners. The smile on Bucky’s face when he came out was more than worth the hassle of trying to get enough signal to download the playlist.

“You know, Mr Barnes-Barton, I’d almost think you were trying to seduce me,” he said, in an exaggerated version of his Brooklyn drawl that made Clint want to jump him.

“Is it working?” he asked, settling back into the water and then leaning over to turn the bubbles on.

Bucky snorted, coming over to climb in. “It’s been working for a good couple of years already. I’da thought you’d have noticed by now.”

He settled in next to Clint, close enough to rest their shoulders together, and Clint leaned in to kiss him. “Guess that must be what all that sex was about.”

“Oh yeah,” said Bucky, and dragged him in closer so that they could properly make out.

It only took fifteen minutes for Clint to be straddling Bucky’s lap, pressing his erection into his stomach as they kissed.

“Please tell me you put lube without arm’s reach,” said Bucky against Clint’s lips, fingers dipping down below the waist of his shorts to squeeze at his ass.

“Fuck,” muttered Clint. “I didn’t think.” He gave Bucky a long, heavy kiss, pushing in close against his body, then pulled away. “Give me a minute. Half a minute, ten seconds…”

He stood up out of the hot tub so fast that the water sloshed off him, sending waves as he climbed up the steps, already mentally focused on where the nearest lube might be.

The sitting room, they’d left some by the couch, that was only a few metres, he could-

He put his foot down on the wet deck and it slipped under him, wrenching with a sharp crack and a sudden shot of intense pain as he fell on his ass.

“Shit! Clint!” said Bucky, and the hot tub water sloshed again as he hurried over. “Are you okay?”

Clint’s whole foot was a burning mass of blinding pain. “No,” he said, miserably.

The nearest hospital was an hour’s drive away, and then they had to wait another three hours for Clint to get an x-ray, a walking cast, and a handful of pills that didn’t do a whole lot against the pain. 

The whole time, Bucky stayed with him, holding his hand and telling everyone, “I’m his husband,” with an intense growl that made them all back down from trying to get him to leave.

Clint just hung on and tried not to think about how badly he’d fucked everything up. How was he already so bad at being a husband when it had been less than a week?

“Do you want to go back to the cabin, or just to New York?” asked Bucky, when the medical professionals finally let them leave. “The Tower will probably easier for crutches.”

Clint shook his head, but didn’t say anything until he was back in the passenger seat of the car. “I want to stay, but I get if you want to just give up,” he said, and then tears were prickling at his eyes, because he’d been trying so _hard_ but he just kept getting everything wrong, and he was the worst husband ever. Why the hell had he thought he’d be able to do this?

“I’m sorry,” he added and then, fuck, he was crying, which was probably at least partially because of the pain and the pills, but he couldn’t keep in the flood of misery at how badly he was letting Bucky down. “I’ve ruined this whole thing. Our honeymoon, and I’ll have done is fuck it up. I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Oh, hey no,” said Bucky, reaching over to take Clint in his arms. “You haven’t at all, sweetheart.”

Clint shook his head, pressing his face into Bucky’s shoulder. “I lost the compass and I fell out the boat and I fucked up the pancakes and now I’ve broken my damn foot and I’m ruining everything.”

“Sssh, no,” said Bucky, rocking him slightly. “Listen, that’s not it at all. You gave me exactly what I wanted. The cabin, and the lake, and the woods. You listened to what I wanted, and you got it perfect. And we saw deer in the woods, and you were so damn hot climbing that tree, and before you fell in, being out on the water with the sun shining down, nothing but the sound of waves at the two of us, that was so damn perfect. You’re perfect, Clint, and there’s no way you could fuck this up.”

Clint tried to restrain a sob, but didn’t manage it. It felt like the long day and the best part of the night in a hospital, and all the stress and tension of trying to be exactly what Bucky deserved were all crashing down on him at once.

Bucky just kept stroking a hand over his back, holding him close. “All I wanted from a honeymoon was to be with you,” he added. “I’m so sorry that you keep getting hurt, sweetheart, but it can’t ruin this as long as we’re still together.”

Clint drew in a long deep breath. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asked, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes to try and hide the tear stains.

“You didn’t have to _do_ anything,” said Bucky. “You’ve just got to be yourself. Even when that means a string of disasters, I’m never going to want anything else. I’m so proud to be with someone like you, Clint, someone who just picks himself up after all the shit that happens and keeps going.”

“I love you,”said Clint, because he couldn’t come out with anything more coherent, and Bucky gave him a soft smile.

“I love you too,” he said and, shit, his eyes contained nothing but love, and trust, and respect, even now, after all the dumpster fire shit that Clint had pulled over the last couple of days. “Back to the cabin? We can just spend tomorrow wrapped in blankets on the sofa with an open fire.”

Clint nodded. “That sounds pretty much perfect,” he said, and Bucky started the car.

“Of course it will be,” he said. “I’ll be with you.”

****

A week later, when they finally got back to the tower, Clint had graduated to only one crutch.

“Jesus,” said Tony as they came into the main room. “Only you, Barton.”

“Barnes-Barton,” Bucky corrected him.

Natasha came out of the kitchen and took in both of their appearances with a swift look, then raised an eyebrow. “Had a good time, then?”

Clint glanced at Bucky just in time to see his wide, satisfied grin, not a hint of anything but joy in it. “It was perfect.”

And fuck, it really had been.


End file.
